The Golden Quest
The storm had not broken, but the air in the Hall of Whispers had grown thick with the scent of wet stone and old parchment, a scent that clung to the tongue like dust. Elias sat at the far end of the long table, his hands folded tightly over a small, velvet pouch. The fabric was threadbare, its gold embroidery faded to the color of dried blood, but the weight within it was substantial, a...
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